Grimoire

Originally a grimoire was painstakingly constructed. Botanicals collected, old papers shredded, boiled, and blessed. The botanicals were laced into the pulp as it was being pressed and dried. The pages were stitched together during the dark of the moon, with red binding cord. Three pricks with the binding needle, drops of blood carefully covered by the marbled endpapers. Marbling ink recipe one of the first an apprentice learned. It was meant to be a permanent record of everything a wise woman learned. Her recipes and receipts, cantrips and simples. Notations of which treatment worked for which person for which ailment in the margins. How to make charms, how to dispel a charm; and the usual section on hexes, in the back, requiring the spell to make the pages visible to the reader.

Pages were not ripped out, sometimes things might be crossed out and written again. These lifeworks were passed along to the next witch taking over the territory, the bindings carefully unstitched, new pages added, everything stitched up again, three new drops of blood added to the endpiece. A grimoire reputedly had its own powers, was almost a living thing, it could have generations of information within its pages.

Stephen found the old book in Gifford’s Antiques in the quirky little mountain town. His girlfriend Molly loved old books, had some really nice ones she kept in a glass fronted humidity-controlled cabinet. He wanted to bring her something special. She’d been so understanding about his wanting to take this weekend adventure motorcycling with his buddies. He took the book to the register, intending to haggle down the $300 price. When the proprietor rang it up for a tenth of the price, Stephen wanted to protest. But he looked again, the tag clearly said $30. He carefully wrapped the old book in his favorite concert tee and stored it in his saddlebag.

Molly greeted Stephen with light sludge up to her elbows. She’d spent her weekend making paper, something her grandmother had taught her. She had managed 30 sheets, most of which would be usable. While they enjoyed a glass of wine and watched the full moon rise, Stephen presented Molly with the book. She would have sworn she could feel electricity running through the cover.

Two weeks later, when Stephen was called out of town on business, the moon was dark. Molly took her hand made sheets, carefully unbound the grimoire and stitched her pages in. Three pricks of blood for the endpieces. She created new marbled paper using the recipe her grandmother gave her. She’d need to make some notations in the margins for the ink recipe in the book. She thought her grandmother would be proud.

— Lkai